Is (11 page)

There was absolutely nobody else up there when we got there. And not surprising. Here there were more models in glass cases. But boats this time. Just boring old boats. Did they have something to do with Brunel too, I wondered. More than you could ever imagine, of course.

Is led me straight over to a model of this old-fashioned-looking boat with a funnel as well as masts for sails. It was called the
SS
Great Britain. The plaque above it told me what I'd already guessed.

‘So Brunel built boats as well, did he?'

‘Designed them, Robert. I didn't build them. The men did that. And it's a ship, not a boat.'

‘Designed ships, then.'

‘Yes.'

‘And I suppose they were bigger and better than anything else around at the time too?' I asked, with more sarcasm in my voice than I really intended.

‘Of course…' She walked over to another model. ‘But this… this was to be my greatest triumph…'

I went over and looked through the glass at a strange-looking ship which had masts for sails, large paddle wheels on the side, plus a propeller and five funnels. It was a monster, no doubt about it.

Above the model there was a plaque, which I read out aloud: ‘The Great Eastern, 1858. The largest vessel afloat from 1858 to 1899. A ship some forty years in advance of her time in size and design.'

‘That's what finally killed me.'

I looked at Is in astonishment. Her face was reflected in the glass and those penetrating eyes of hers still seemed to be looking at me through the reflection.

‘What finally… killed you, Is?' I asked nervously.

‘The strain of it all, of course. The Great Eastern was just too big a project, even for me. I was never that strong you know… I used to be terribly ill as a child.'

‘Oh, come on Is, what are…' but, before I could say another word, a woman's voice on the PA system interrupted me.

‘Will Isabel Williams and Robert Morgan please make their way to the entrance hall where their teacher is waiting for them. I repeat, will…'

‘I told you we shouldn't have come up here, didn't I?' I yelled, making for the stairs. ‘Come on, get a move on; Phillips will be in a right state.'

9

Sink or Swim

It was about a month before the name Brunel cropped up again. Things had been going okay. I had been spending more time with Brian down the road but I had been round Is's a good few times too, and things seemed a lot better there.

Her mother was more relaxed and I didn't sense that funny atmosphere you sometimes get in places where everyone's on edge. It seemed really fine. My mother got to know Is's mother too and they started seeing each other quite often and going out shopping together.

One night, Isabel and I went along with a whole crowd to see Kevin and the – sorry, the Strangers – do their first real gig; it was at a local youth club, but I suppose everybody's got to start somewhere.

When we went in there was only a record player going. It hardly made enough sound for anyone to hear, even though it was on full volume. By the door there was a hatch where they were selling Coke, coffee and packets of soggy crisps and where everyone was hanging around.

At the other end of the hall was the stage. It was really tiny and had tatty crimson-colour curtains hanging down either side. It was difficult to imagine how Kevin and his mates would all get on stage together; especially as what little space there was had been filled with these enormous black speaker boxes.

The Strangers also had these lights which flashed in time with the music; at least that was the theory. They seemed to have a mind of their own and flickered on and off wildly whenever there was a lull in the music. I found out later that Kevin had roped in Clever Trev to do the lights, so I can't say I'm surprised at how useless they were.

Still, there were loads of people there and at the end they even got some applause. Personally I think it was just that everyone like me had been conned out of money by Kevin and his band of upper-sixth thugs. And we were hoping if the Strangers did well we might see our ‘investment' back some time. Fat chance.

Kevin even had this idea of performing in a concert the school was talking of putting on at Easter. The fact that the musical
Jesus Christ Superstar
was on in London at the time may have had something to do with it.

I think Kevin probably saw himself as some sort of Andrew Lloyd Webber figure. The mind boggles. But luckily the idea didn't get off the ground, so we were spared that spectacle.

So, as I say, all in all things weren't too bad. But then, just as we were going along nicely, what happens but another science lesson with Mr Phillips…

‘Today we're going to learn a bit about how water behaves,' started Mr Phillips as he walked up and down the aisle. He was behind Jamie Johnson, one of Kevin's mates, at the time.

‘Johnson, perhaps you'd like to tell the class what you know about water?'

Jamie had to twist his head round to look at Mr Phillips, who was now hovering ominously above him. ‘It's wet, Sir?'

We all giggled at that. All except Mr Phillips, of course.

‘Very good, Johnson. And what do you use it for?'

‘Washing? Sir?' I sensed Jamie was cowering slightly as he gave his answer, not quite sure if it was the right one.

‘Washing? Yes, very good Johnson! But tell me…'

‘Yes, Sir?' Jamie was relaxed now that he thought he'd got it right; not a good idea when Phillips is around. He had no sooner got the words out than he found himself pinned to the desk with the full weight of Mr Phillips on his shoulders and the obnoxious breath of Mr Phillips hot in his ears. ‘If you know about washing, Johnson, tell me, 
why is your neck so disgustingly filthy!'

Mr Phillips strode back to his desk amid howls of laughter at Jamie's expense.

‘But we are not here to discuss the sad state of young Johnson's neck,' he continued. ‘I have something else here which might amuse you.'

With that he reached under his desk and brought out a brick, an ordinary brick. Well, half of one. He put it on the desk with a dramatic thump. For a minute I thought he might pick it up and aim it at one of us. But no, he opened a drawer and took out a reel of cotton which he proceeded to tie round the brick. Then he held the cotton up so it was taut, and looked round the class.

‘Okay, who would like to try and lift the brick with this piece of cotton.'

No prizes for guessing whose hand shot up first. Well actually, his was the only hand that was raised.

Mr Phillips beamed. ‘Ah, Smart! You fancy a go, do you?'

‘Yes, Sir,' replied Clever Trev as he got up from his desk.

Despite valiant efforts by me and a couple of others, nobody managed to trip Trev up on his journey to Mr Phillips' desk.

‘So you think it's possible to lift this brick without breaking the cotton do you?'

‘Yes, Sir.' Clever Trev naturally thought there was a trick and for some reason the brick would lift. He didn't realise he was being set up.

‘Well let's see you do it then.'

Oh, how Trevor's face was contorted with concentration as he gradually increased the strain on that slender thread of cotton.

And how Trevor's face was a mixture of anger and disappointment as the cotton parted with a twanging noise!

Oh, how we all giggled! Even Mr Phillips had to suppress a smile.

‘Right, now let's try it another way.'

He went over to the side bench where there was a fish tank full of water and brought it back to his desk. Then he tied a fresh piece of cotton to the brick and lifted it gently to the bottom of the fish tank. The end of cotton trailed up and over the side.

‘Who would like to try to lift the brick now?' Nobody, it seemed.

‘Right, Ryder, up you come.'

‘Oh, Sir…'

‘Up you come.'

Kevin Ryder got heavily out of his seat and shuffled towards the front of the class.

Really, with the three of them all there together, Mr Phillips, Kevin Ryder and the brick, I found it difficult deciding which was the most intelligent. Eventually I came down on the side of the brick. It was definitely the one with most personality.

But, surprisingly, Kevin's demonstration was very convincing. He lifted the strand of cotton and gently pulled on it. To our amazement, the brick lifted up in the water.

Mr Phillips smiled again. ‘Thank you, Kevin.'

Kevin Ryder swanked all the way back to his seat with a broad grin on his face. It must have been the first time that he had actually managed to do something right. Still, we didn't begrudge him his moment of glory. He'd made Trevor Smart look pretty silly after all. Although Mr Phillips obviously had a lot to do with that too.

‘Now, who knows why that happened?' he asked. ‘Have any of you any idea why Trevor was unable to lift the brick without the cotton breaking, yet Kevin managed to?'

‘Sheer brilliance?' suggested Emily Ford, who had a bit of a crush on Kevin. She also needed glasses.

‘Unlikely,' replied Mr Phillips, which was a rather kinder remark than usual for him. ‘The reason why it was easier in the water is because the water was helping to lift it too.'

He demonstrated lifting the brick again as if waiting for a round of applause. We didn't oblige.

‘You see? What's happening is that the water is exerting what we call an upward thrust on the brick, trying to lift it. And what's amazing…'

(…is that I'm still awake, I thought.)

‘… is that the upward thrust is equal to the weight of the water that the brick has displaced. Isn't that incredible?'

‘Incredible' certainly wasn't the word I'd have used.

But Mr Phillips was in his element. ‘This principle was first discovered by a Greek mathematician called Archimedes who lived thousands of years ago. He discovered it while having a bath one day. He noticed the way that the water rose when he got in and then worked the rest out in his mind.'

None of us, it seemed, had the faintest idea what Mr Phillips was rabbiting on about.

‘He was so excited he ran straight out of the house into the street, without any clothes on, yelling “Eureka!” “Eureka” means “I've found it!”'

We perked up a bit at that.

‘I bet he had!' smirked Kevin and some of the girls started giggling.

‘Thank you, Kevin,' Mr Phillips said as reproachfully as he could. ‘The point is you can see now why you were able to lift the brick and Trevor wasn't, can't you?'

If Kevin could see, he wasn't letting on. So Mr Phillips turned his attention to Jamie.

‘And you, Johnson, what do you make of it, eh?' Jamie gave a blank look in response.

‘Well,' Mr Phillips continued, with a big grin on his face, ‘I should try it if I were you Jamie. You could make a major scientific discovery lying in your bath! Who knows, you might even discover soap!'

There was a sort of wheezy sound like an old donkey braying. It was Mr Phillips laughing at his own joke while his bald head bobbed about under the glare from the spotlight.

Still laughing he carried on. ‘And this of course is the reason why boats float. After all, metal doesn't naturally float does it? I mean, if you put a bar of metal in a bowl of water it'll sink, won't it? But, make it into a boat shape, and it doesn't. That's because there's an upward thrust lifting it, equal to the weight of the water the boat has displaced.'

As you can imagine, most of us just let his words wash over us.

The exceptions were Clever Trevor, who tried sucking up to Mr Phillips by asking questions and appearing interested, and Is, who was sitting bolt upright and had an intent expression on her face.

‘When we go on a ferry we all accept that it's made of metal, don't we?' Mr Phillips went on. ‘We don't give it a second thought. But we should stop and ask ourselves why it floats, shouldn't we?'

‘Because the ferry company'd be sunk if it didn't,' chortled Kevin, obviously still flush with the success of his brick levitation.

Personally I thought that was quite good for Kevin, but Mr Phillips was less than impressed.

‘Yes, thank you, Ryder. You can keep your jokes to yourself in future.' After a pause while he wiped his shiny bald bit with a handkerchief, Mr Phillips carried on. ‘Of course, when they made the first iron boats, back in Victorian times, people didn't believe they'd float either. In fact, some of you may remember a couple of years ago they brought back one of those early iron boats from the Falkland Islands, way down near the tip of South America.' We all looked blank. I didn't remember anything about any iron ship. And at the time the Falkland Islands meant nothing to us either; after all, the Falklands war didn't happen for another ten years. ‘The ship,' blabbered on Mr Phillips, ‘was the
SS
Great Britain…'